


Rush

by orphan_account



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1531658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Anna, who loves Fort Max just as much as me :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Rush

**Author's Note:**

> For Anna, who loves Fort Max just as much as me :)

When Fortress Maximus had first joined the Lost Light they’d struggled to find him a room equipped to his needs. But eventually he settled into somewhere just right. It had a wider doorway and a recharge slab big enough for him to stretch on. A big window and a desk on a separate wall from his berth. 

They were privileges he'd neglected.

Months later, after he left the brig, people seemed quickly to forget that he helped save the ship, but they didn’t forget that he was responsible for hurting Rung. 

Fortress Maximus grieved over his mistakes in the room they reallocated him to. His old room, he was told, was occupied by someone else. Someone who needed a bigger berth and wider doorways more than he did. Fortress Maximus couldn’t think of anyone aboard the ship to fit that profile. But he didn’t have the nerve grumble. 

He only regretted not demanding a decent sized berth, now that he wanted to share his space with another. The standard sized berth he’d been demoted to was barely compatible to his frame, never mind him _plus_ one.

Maybe that was because nobody thought he’d make it this far. Even Fort Max himself predicted an outburst would put him back in the brig sooner than _he’d_ put someone to bed.

The berth touched three out of the four walls boxing him in his room, even Ambulon had commented on the appalling lack of space. Fort Max brushed him off, it wasn’t worth starting a debate over - not when there was interfacing on the agenda. 

_Interfacing…_

He pretended the thought of it wasn’t making him anxious, just like he lied to Rung when he told the therapist the inadequate size of his room wasn’t making him feel _cramped,_ or, _confined_ or _trapped._ That it didn’t bring back memories of horrible dark places and the idea of being stuck in that room day after day _didn’t_ make his paint peel with restless. 

Ambulon reeled him back into the present with a calm call and a touch to the knee. Fortress Maximus’s optics flickered back online. He swallowed. They were both on the berth, positioned a little too close. The ceiling was close to grazing the top of his helm. 

In the near darkness, Ambulon’s optics shone brightly. He wasn't afraid at all, but when he looked into Maximus’s face the excitement in Ambulon’s expression tarnished, soon it vanished completely. What remained was concern. Dread sickened Max and he started to squirm. 

The high grade he’d ingested before hand wasn't working. He was still over thinking, still _sinking_. 

This had never happened to him before. 

Taking mechs home never _bothered_ him like this. 

Ambulon was keen to start, he’d unlocked the panel to his interface sometime ago. Nothing was exposed yet. Perhaps he was waiting for Max to reciprocate. Fortress Maximus thought about it but he just… Worried Ambulon would be dismayed by what he uncovered.

“Max.” 

Max couldn’t answer his summons. He was making a fool of himself. This wasn’t normal. He should just get on with it, get it over with, like other mechs did. _Functioning_ mechs. 

Suddenly he realised his cooling fans were whining at him, activated by incalculable system’s stress warnings that nagged at him like his shrinking self-esteem.  

Regretful, Fort Max’s view fixed on his lap, all his components were sealed tightly, when his large hands fumbled with the locking mechanisms they didn’t unclasp easily. It was because they were rarely used. That was the reason. Not because of his shaking hands. No.

All the while he was aware of Ambulon watching. 

_Pull yourself together._ He scolded, his own voice was stern, even unsounded Max could here his own disappointment coming from the mech he used to be living in the spineless body of the mech he’d become. 

“Max.” Ambulon said again, softly, resting his hand over Max’s - stopping the larger mech before he could finish unbuckling the first lock, “It’s okay, Max.” He was trying to be gentle, trying to be patient. Fortress Maximus was too ashamed to even look at him. Was he about to open the locks for him? Like the parent of a big, useless sparking! 

But Ambulon’s hands lifted higher than his interface. Instinctually, Max braced himself for something unpleasant. 

“It’s okay,” Ambulon repeated, his warm hand smoothed over Maximus’s jaw, tempting Max’s face up, out of his melancholic bow, “You’re not ready and that’s okay.” He smiled. 

There was no sharp edge. No lies, no impression that Ambulon would soon run and spread the word of Max’s inadequacy throughout the ship. 

Just understanding. 

Max couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so moved by kindness. Inside his chest his spark grew, pushing a lump into his throat. 

When Ambulon offered his other arm Max fell into it willingly, breathing hot, ragged apologises against Ambulon’s shoulder. 

“There’s something wrong with me!” He cried in-between. 

Ambulon made hushed sounds. One hand stoking repetitively over Max’s helm and down his neck. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You are completely normal. This is your space, your body”- Max gripped him tightly, so desperate to hold onto those promises, his jaw set tightly to hold in the embarrassing sounds of anguished relief, “You don’t have to do anything, just breathe, you don’t have to do anything else.” But they’d been building up to this, he’d disappointed Ambulon, just like he disappointed himself. 

Ambulon brushed off those depressing claims with warm reassurances. He said that consent didn’t start or end when they squeezed through the hab suite door together. Or when they sat on the berth. It started when Max gave permission and it would end whenever he said. 

It felt so good to have that kind of assurance, the emotion swelling inside Maximus was disarming and blocked his thanks from being vocalised, emitting a deep, groaning sound instead. 

Ambulon leans into his weight and holds Max steady.

“Take your time, Fortress Maximus. There’s no rush.”   

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm open to requests. Any ideas? Message me!


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